When It's Over
by AKA DD
Summary: SPOILER: S2Ep22 Season Finale. The boys never found a way to get Dean out of his deal. Now, they’re facing Dean’s final hour, and Sam has to make a choice.


**DISCLAIMER: Supernatural belongs to the imagination and creativity of Kripke and his team, as well as to the bankroll of The CW. Lucky bastards.**

**A/N: I wondered how it would be for the boys to reverse roles, wherein Dean would be the one dying, and Sam would be the one helpless to save his brother. In some respects, Dean still takes on the role of savior, but Sam has to make the harder choice.**

**SUMMARY: The boys never found a way to get Dean out of his deal. Now, they're facing Dean's final hour.**

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**WHEN IT'S OVER**

"Hey."

Dean looked over his shoulder to see his brother standing awkwardly a few feet away from him. "Hey."

"So…" Sam's voice came out in a hoarse, strangled whisper.

Dean's lips quirked to one side in a crooked smirk. "So."

There was a silence between the two brothers that stretched on and on. Sam's tension was almost something Dean could touch. His brother kept shifting from foot to foot, taking his hands in and out of his pants pockets, and sighing heavily. But Sam stayed where he was—just out of arm's reach—as if he were afraid of touching Dean.

Sam searched his face, but Dean kept his expression unreadable. He continued to stare over the horizon and focused on each breath he took. His shoulders felt tight, so he stretched his arms languidly to ease the kinks. He heard, more than saw, Sam shuffle his feet impatiently. He heard his brother clearing his dry throat.

And still Dean focused on a distant point just over the horizon, his eyes so concentrated on it that they almost couldn't see anything else.

"How can you be so _calm_?" his brother demanded, finally breaking the taut silence, unable to keep his frustration inside. His accusing hazel-brown eyes bore into Dean, swimming with unshed tears. His lips were compressed into a colorless, belligerent frown.

Dean shrugged his brother's question away. It wasn't so much calmness he felt as numbness. He couldn't make himself think past the next second, couldn't make himself make more than the smallest movement, hell…he could barely breathe. He was just…numb.

"Aren't you _scared?_" Sam's voice slipped into his consciousness again, cracking under the pressure of a sob.

Dean tightened his jaw. Was he scared? Of course. He was so scared that there was nothing he could do. But he purposefully turned to look at Sam, and shook his head slowly. He followed it with a loose shrug and a quick smirk. "Doesn't matter," he replied softly. "It's done."

"Dammit, Dean!" cried Sam, striding over and standing right in front of him. He grabbed Dean's shoulders, his fingernails biting into the flesh past the layers of clothing. He pulled Dean from his laconic position against the Impala and literally shook him. "Why aren't you fighting this?" There was a note of desperation in Sam's voice, a look of sheer terror in his younger brother's eyes.

Dean felt his head snap backwards at the sheer amount of force that Sam had used. His own fear and fury broke out of their numbing paralysis. He pushed against Sam's chest, hard, until his brother released him, staggering backwards. "I'm done fighting, Sam!" he roared. "I'M _DONE_!"

Sam shook his head vigorously, unwilling to accept Dean's answer. "We still have time…an hour…"

"It's over, Sammy," he said firmly. "Let it be over." There was almost a plea in his rough voice.

"_I can't._" Sam's face crumpled as a tear rolled down one cheek. His lower lip quivered, and he struggled for breath. His brother hastily wiped the tear away with the sleeve of his jacket.

It hurt to see his brother all torn up like that. But this was the way things were, and there was no changing it. It was like their destiny had been set out in a twisted, complicated pattern, like a series of dominoes. When their mom had died, the first domino had been pushed over and had fallen…and like the inevitable chain reaction, the rest just kept falling, one-by-one.

For his part of the pattern, the last piece was about to come crashing down.

"Sammy…" he started to say, but the bleak look in Sam's eyes cut him off.

"Dean…how am I supposed to just let you die?" whispered his brother.

Dean's breath locked in his chest for a moment, before an emotion, like a punch in the gut had it rushing out of him in an uneven gasp. His own words over Sam's deathbed whispered over and over in his head. The same words.

For the first time in the last five days, Dean felt the ice of his numbness start to melt. He started to _feel_ again…and _God_ it _hurt_. He felt tears well up in his eyes. "You have to." He replied firmly.

"I promised you that I'd get you out of this…and I failed you, Dean," whispered Sam, his voice cracked and hollow. "How'm I supposed to live with that, dammit!"

Dean recognized the angry, hollow words—they echoed his own cry at Sam's deathbed just a year before. It sent a chill through him that almost had him running towards his brother and clamping Sam's mouth shut with his hand. He was afraid that his brother was just like him; afraid that his brother was doomed like him.

"Sam, listen to me," he murmured, walking closer towards his brother. He reached into his jeans pocket and took the Impala's keys out. He grabbed Sam's hand and pressed the keys onto his brother's palm. He pressed down hard so that he was sure his brother would feel each jagged edge of the sharp object. "Take this. Then take my body, and burn me. You hear?"

Sam was shaking his head angrily, his eyes glazed over, like he wasn't seeing Dean at all. His palm wouldn't close around the keys.

Dean fisted the front of Sam's shirt and pulled his brother roughly so that they were face to face. It didn't matter that Sam had grown so much taller than he had…he was still the older brother. "Sam!" he roared, demanding his brother's attention.

Sam blinked. "I _can't_."

"You. Have. To."

Sam's face crumbled, and he looked incredibly young and vulnerable. "I don't know how to do this without you, Dean. Without Dad. Without Jess. Without Mom. I just don't know if I _can_."

Dean looked sadly at his brother. He understood more than anyone the burdens his brother would be left to carry. But he still forced Sam's fingers to close securely over the keys to the Impala. "Take it. Burn my body. Scatter my ashes. And let it be done." He said with purposeful slowness.

Sam's eyes stared directly into his. "_I hate you_." He said, enunciating the three words slowly.

Dean's lips twisted into a crooked, ironic smile. "I don't really give a damn. So long as you do what you're supposed to do."

Sam jutted his jaw stubbornly. "But you can't stop me if I don't."

Dean was torn between rage and fear and sorrow. Emotions flitted past his face, one chasing after the other. He released his hold on Sam's shirt and took his brother's face in his hands.

He very rarely touched his brother. It was a guy-thing. Brothers don't hug like sisters do. Brothers don't hold hands during scary moments. And brothers certainly didn't have chick-flick moments. But damnit, he had to make Sam understand.

"Sammy, listen to me," he said carefully, his hands forcing Sam to look at him—to meet him in the eyes. His brother opened his mouth to say something but Dean cut him off. "No, _really_ listen to me."

Sam clamped his mouth shut, but was having a hard time meeting Dean's eyes, settling on a point just over his brow. Dean grabbed his brother and pulled him into a fierce hug. "Sam, it's too late. The last domino's about to fall. Please don't do anything stupid for my sake. It ends with me."

Sam struggled out of Dean's grasp. "I don't get it, Dean," he cried. "Why would it be stupid for me to try to save you? Why was it such a bad thing when Dad saved you? Why was it the right thing to save _me_?"

"I don't know. It just is." Dean ran both his hands through his hair and shook his head. It was about duty. It was about being the older brother. It was about family. It was about all of that, but he couldn't quite spit the words out. He sagged heavily against the side of the Impala. The car shook slightly, absorbing the impact.

Sam looked sadly at him, and followed his example. He half-sat on the hood of the car, his head bowed low. His young face was lined, his eyes were dull, and he looked tired. "Dean, this was never about nickels and dimes. I don't know what made you think that my life was worth more than yours…that…"

"Dad gave you to me, Sam!" he cut off, trying to explain exactly _why_ he _had_ to save him. "And since then, it's been my job to take care of you."

"It's not about that. It's because we're brothers, Dean. I have your back, too!"

Dean stared helplessly back at Sam. "What do you want me to say, Sammy? That I made a mistake? Cuz you know I won't—"

"You don't deserve hell, Dean," whispered Sam, his voice broken.

Dean released a half-strangled laugh. "God, Sammy," he groaned. "It's the least I deserve."

"No, you don't," he insisted. "I'm gonna get you outta hell. I promise you."

Dean grabbed the back collar of Sam's jacket and tugged hard, shaking his brother out of his stupidity. "Don't, Sam." He warned, his voice hoarse with the panic that suddenly grabbed at him.

Sam gave him a sideways look before pulling his jacket on straight. "Give me something to live for." He said. "Something to fight for."

Dean looked at his brother for a long while, his eyes searching Sam's earnest face. Then he looked over the horizon towards the setting sun. He took a deep breath, then finally nodded. It was a sad realization, that having lived all their lives for a single purpose, they had learned to carry the heavy burdens of a supernatural war.

They had learned it so well that they didn't know how to live without those burdens.

He stared at his brother. Sam's brow was wrinkled, his lips were set in a stubborn line, but his eyes were kind and almost pleading. Sam needed to save Dean. He _needed_ it like air and water.

Dean could see the need, desperation, fear, grief, and the bone-weary sorrow weighing on Sam, making his brother look older than his age. They were intangibles, abstracts, things that had no real, physical weight; but they were tangible just the same. It was like the weight of the fear that felt like a band around his chest, making it almost impossible to breathe.

He understood what it was like to live with those weights and just keep moving forward. He also understood the feeling of being out of balance when those weights were removed, as if his life had suddenly lost anchor. As if his life had lost all meaning.

It was their tragedy—their screwed-up legacy—to live only to die…not really ever knowing how to live at all.

"Hey, just promise me one thing, okay?" he murmured.

Sam cocked his head to the side, listening. "Yeah?"

"Don't follow me."

Sam's lips twitched into a reluctant smirk. Dean felt his own lips curve into a wry half-grin. "Seriously, Sam. I see you in hell, I'll kill you myself."

"Dean," Sam ground out testily, but he was shaking his head half in resignation, half in grudging amusement.

Dean looked at his brother, knowing that this moment—now—was goodbye. But he couldn't make the words come out of his mouth. He didn't know what to say. The truth was, he didn't know how to say goodbye. He'd never really given this moment much thought…he'd never _wanted_ to think about it. He had secretly hoped that they would still find a way to undo his deal with the Crossroads Demon.

But hope wasn't really for him. He should have learned by then. He certainly knew it for sure by now. He would just be stupid and naïve to hope that Sam could get him out of hell.

Suddenly, he heard them. Howls from a distance, cries of the hellhounds. He shivered involuntarily, fear and dreadful anticipation crashing inside of him. Sam was instantly alert. "Dean?"

"Go." He ordered his brother. He indicated to Sam's clenched fist where the Impala's keys were carving out grooves on his brother's palm. "Now. Go now!"

Sam was shaking his head, but there was a look of horror and indecision on his brother's face. He stomped forward and grabbed Sam's wrist, literally yanking him towards the driver's side of the Impala. "Now, Sammy!" he ground out through gritted teeth, his voice rough and coarse.

"I can't just leave you to die!"

"Yes, you can. Cuz you have to. Pick me up later," he said curtly. "And do as I told you."

Sam just stood frozen, his hand on the Impala's door handle.

Dean's heart clenched at the look on Sam's face. It was fear and sorrow. It was a look of such sadness and loneliness. He reached for his brother's shoulder and squeezed hard. "It's time, Sammy. I gotta go. You gotta let me go, okay?"

Sam turned away from him, his dark head bowed low. Dean felt the tension in his brother's shoulders. Then slowly, he felt that tension melt away as his brother took a deep breath, gaining control over himself. This time, when Sam turned back to look at him, his brother's face was serene and accepting, but resignation and defeat strained the corners of his lips.

"Dean, I—"

"Yeah, kid. Me, too." He cut off. He didn't know what his brother was gonna say. It was either "I'm sorry" or something out of a romance novel. He wasn't interested in either. But he knew what his brother _meant_. And that was all that counted.

Sam gave him one nod, before getting into the car. Without another look at him, his brother gunned the engine and sped out of there. Dean watched the red taillights disappear into the growing dusk and over the horizon. He watched with a strange sense of detachment, like it wasn't really him watching his brother leave.

The thing about goodbyes…it wasn't as hard when you were the one going. It was much harder being the one left behind.

He heard footsteps behind him, heard the growls that sent chills down his back, and he smelled the stench of death suddenly fill the air around him. He closed his eyes and smiled. Dying—this was the easy part.

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Sam sat in the parking lot of the roadside diner for a long time. He was so cold. His hands were shaking, and he felt like there was something squeezing the very life out of him. It hurt to breathe, to think, to move.

It hurt to sit here and wait.

His eyes caught the time on the dashboard. In one more minute… He swallowed painfully, his throat so dry that the walls stuck together, momentarily choking the breath out of him. His throat worked around the blockage and he gulped a lungful of air.

In one more minute…Dean would be gone.

Unbidden, his hand came to rest on the small scar on his spine. The wound was completely healed now, and the scar was fading and soon, it would be nothing. A hell of a miracle, he thought mirthlessly. Too bad the blame wouldn't heal. Too bad the scars of the guilt would never go away into nothing.

His shoulders sagged suddenly, and he slumped lower into the car seat. He felt a sob working its way from the pit of his stomach. He felt the heaviness of his fear, his grief, his anger. He felt the weight of the darkness of the night that surrounded him. He felt the chill of the loneliness in the Impala. He carried the burden of his legacy like an albatross around his neck.

He caught his reflection in the dark windshield. His eyes stared back at him accusingly.

Worst of all, he carried the burden of being alive.

**THE END.**

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**A/N: Thank you for reading. Reviews are always appreciated.**


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